Mustache Rides, 5 Cents

Thank you so much for playing along! I was in a strange mood when I threw this topic out, and you all delivered in spades. Here are the seven entries. Poll is open until midnight on Sunday (California time). I have a fabulous new contest brewing, which I'll announce shortly. Oh, and the prizes for the Take My Picture contest have arrived! So if you entered that one and forgot to send me your mailing address — drop a line to msalisontyler at yahoo dot com — I think I'm waiting for addresses for "Model for Me," "Balls," and "The Camera Never Lies." (I'm still waiting on the Change buttons and the Grammar buttons.) I appreciated all of the comments (in front of and behind the scenes) to my 93 % for Me, 7% for You post.

Without any more stalling... here are the stories!

*****

Entry #1: Office Hours

I fucking hate facial hair. That shit ruins a man’s face. I likes ‘em clean. Stubble’s good, too. Rough against your thighs, clit. A little burn ain’t never hurt nobody.

But Professor Northman’s got this moustache. It’s cornsilk blond. Man looks like a motherfucking Viking. Makes me wanna be a Norman village. Pillage this.

Damn, he’s touching the ‘stache. Smoothing it down. I squirm, pressing my bare ass against the wooden seat of my chair. My cunt touches the cold wood and I moan. He smiles. Shit, did he hear me? Nah. But I open my brown legs a little wider, my plaid skirt rides up, and I grind a little into the chair. I hope he can smell me. All the way across his fucking desk, smell my wet pussy.

All college profs have office hours and no one ever goes. But I need help. He comes to stand in front of his desk, and I’m at cock level.

“Miss Hill.” That voice. My fucking nipples could cut glass. “I’m surprised to see you. Students usually come to me when they’re failing. But you’re doing well.” Another smile. “How can I help you?”

I stand up. Lick my lips. Want to lick his cock.

I tell him. Everything. His mouth on my cunny, his dick up my ass. Fuck me. Please come on my face. “Would you, sir?”

He leans over ‘til his moustache tickles my ear. Licks it. Pinches a hard nipple. Shit. “Lock the door.”

“Yes, sir.”

*****

Entry #2: Snidely Doesn't Live Here Anymore

I hate his mustache. He knows it too. He plays with me. Traps me naked in the steamy bathroom with him. Hands me a straight razor. Tells me, “Don’t fuck up.”

Green eyes glitter, my hands start to shake. He puts a hand on my ass, pets me so that I’m even more distracted. His Snidely Whiplash mustache, I call it in my head. I loathe it. Porn movies and villains. All of this comes to mind as I shave him. Trembling. Whisking the stubble from his face with the shiny silver killing tool.

A finger slips between my thighs. Strokes. I wick off one curved inch-long tip and gasp. There it went. The constant taunt he wears on his face. Ruined. “Oh,” I breathe.

He rises from the toilet lid. Eyes finding me in the mirror--assessing.

My heart triples speed. A secret little thrill between my legs, in my belly. I've slain the monster. He plucks the razor from my fingers. Shaves the rest in four sure strokes. Bare faced, angry.

“On your knees.” Down I go like a good soldier. Belly over the cool white lip of the tub, knees knocking. “Count them off.” I do. Eight even blows with the belt from the wall hook. Stinging kisses that make me wet. Make me beg.

He’s in me. Fucking me rough, yanking my hair. “I know what you did.”

I know he does. But that doesn’t stop the smile. My victory. Because Snidely doesn’t live here anymore.

*****

Entry #3: Javert’s Prisoner

She sat in the wings, waiting. Javert was about to sing his solo. He stood proud, centre stage.

There, out in the darkness
A fugitive running...

She smiled as she watched his broad back walk up the stage. The angst in his voice so true. She had already fallen in love with his deep baritone in rehearsals, but her breath caught sharply in her throat as she saw Javert in full costume. That coat, that solid body and that moustache. She gripped the railing, staring as he built up to a strong finish.

...That I may see him
Safe behind bars
I will never rest...

His voice was strong and reassuring. It covered her in a warm cocoon. His moustache quivered in the light, adding to his strict, law abiding character. She watched, and listened, her body quivering with want. She imagined his notes swirling around her body, caressing her carefully at first. Then stronger and harsher. Louder and stricter.

...Till then
This I swear
This I swear by the stars!

She tilted her head back, gasping, taken prisoner by his voice, by his character. Unable to move she watched him stride off-stage, toward her. He paused, watching her struggle with her lust, her breasts heaving in her tight corset, her full skirts keeping her desire trapped. He grasped both her hands tightly in his and tilted her chin up. Slowly, methodically he brushed his mouth over hers, his moustache burning a trail from her lips to her breasts...

*****

Entry #4: Fair’s Fair

“I’ll shave mine if you shave yours,” he said.

It took me a beat to catch up. I took in the smirky grin, the cocky posture, and knew that he was absolutely, positively, sure that he’d have that damn lip-rug forever.

I don’t like being predictable. And I don’t like that moustache.

I didn’t say anything, just walked past him to the master bath, and got out a new razor. Undressed. Ran the water hot at the sink.

He followed me, eyes wide, smirk gone.

I set one foot up on a chair and tilted my hips, fluffing the trimmed fuzz on my labia with my fingers. I met his eyes in the mirror and reached for some gel.

In silence, we both watched the slow scrapes of the razor through the foam.

He moved closer. “I want to help.”

We shifted, making room, and he knelt, re-lathering, carefully rasping the razor along my labia, the thin skin near my thigh. “Hold this, here.” He positioned my fingers.

The pure focused attention and the careful deliberate touches had me wet and waiting, but I made him shave his face first.

His naked lip looked pale and vulnerable. I ran my finger over it. “Smooth,” I murmured.

We moved to the bedroom. The thing about shaving places you don’t usually shave is, they are *so* sensitive. The barest breath, the lightest touch, just lights you up. His bare lips sliding along my bare lips was exquisite, silk on silk.

*****

Entry #5: His Lady Tickler

Teresa couldn't believe her ears. Trying hard not to blush, or even let on she was hearing what he was saying, she kept her head down, engrossed in her lab report. Jay stood there, reveling in the attention of the other guys and their laughter. The jerk.

She'd dated him briefly. She was pretty sure only one of the other guys even knew about that. And that guy wasn't laughing.

Jay had been so erotic in the beginning. He'd gently lift her long hair from her neck, bend in, inhale, then kiss her skin. Gently at first, then nibbling and sucking. Her nipples hardened under her t-shirt just thinking of it.

Teresa remembered his mustache on her clit, the delightful prickliness of it. He'd asked if it bothered her. She'd said "no" and meant it.

He was good. His tongue was a serpent, coiling around her cunt, transporting her.

It had not worked out. Now, hearing Jay go on, she was glad. She wondered though, was he talking about her or someone else?

Now he stood here, smoothing his dark mustache with his fingers, being all wink wink nudge nudge, talking about his "lady tickler."

"My girl likes my mustache."

He then inhaled in an extremely exaggerated manner.

"Which is good - it helps me remember her when she's not around."

She was sitting right there. He wasn't talking about her. But she knew something about him.

He couldn't fuck worth anything.

Yeah, wink wink nudge nudge. Say no more.

*****

Entry #6: Turnabout is fair play

I applied adhesive to my upper lip, smoothing the theatrical moustache I’d purchased over top of the sticky substance. The vain aspect of me cried as I viewed my hairy upper lip. The rest of me was excited thinking of his reaction.

After all the times I’d giggled as he went down on me, his soft facial hair tickling the inside of my thighs, brushing against my freshly shaven lips, sending shivers through me, he was about to get a taste of it.

The idea came to me the other night, when he bent to kiss my neck, a soft mew escaping my lips.

“Why do you always do that?” he whispered nuzzling.

“Because it tickles, in a good way.”

“Guess I’ll never know.” He turned me to him, leaning in, kissing me tenderly. Later, my pussy still glowing with juices and tingling, I thought about what a shame it was that he had to miss out on the lovely sensations that I experienced because of that wonderful moustache. Or did he?

I held a scarf across my face, like a belly dancer, as I approached him. I knelt, taking his fully erect cock in my hand, stroking him hard, watching his eyes drift close in ecstasy. Then I moved the scarf and took him in my mouth.

He gasped as the hairs brushed over the top of his shaft. He looked down, eyes widening at the sight of me. Then he relaxed.

“That feels…good.” He said.

“I know.”

*****

Entry #7: True Intimacy

He stood between my legs. I sat on the counter in his steamy bathroom. His bare chest was shiny with moisture. I ran my fingers down his arms, feeling every muscle. My bare legs wrapped themselves around his body. He leaned in and put his lips on my neck. My fingers moved to his muscular back. The kisses down my neck to my shoulder made me wet with want. I ground my clothed pussy into his chest, trying somehow to get some sort of satisfaction. When he pulled away I could feel the heat coming off him. I picked up the bottle of shaving cream to my left and sprayed a perfect poof onto my hand. Delicately, I dabbed it onto his hairy cheeks. His lips looked rosier surrounded by the white foam. I resisted the urge to bend in and taste them. I wasn’t too keen on the taste of shaving cream. However, it smelled deliciously masculine. Goosebumps spread across my legs as I pushed him a few inches away. The razor was at my right. I picked up the magical tool. Working swiftly and precisely, I shaved his face in small strips, alternating strokes with dips in the sink of steaming water next to me. I set the rinsed off razor down on the counter and pulled him close to me again. His cheeks and chin were perfectly shaved by my hand. A beautiful dark mustache stared back at me. I put my mouth on his and moaned.

Wow, right?
Just, like, wow.

XXX,
Alison